


Never Again Shall We Submit

by Dalish_and_Dragons



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 06:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalish_and_Dragons/pseuds/Dalish_and_Dragons
Summary: Taken from an abusive family and adopted into the now-extinct Ralaferin Clan, Ilaan possesses rare magical abilities that made her a point of interest with the Imperium. She thought she had endured the worst of life as she later settled into a new life amongst Clan Lavellan when she was sent to spy upon the events of the Conclave for the safety of her Clan. Little did she know, her story was just beginning.After surviving the explosion at the Conclave, Ilaan was forced into a series of events that would shape all of Thedas for decades to come.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! You may be familiar with my Warden Ilaan from “In Death, Sacrifice.” This Ilaan is an entirely different character (and was actually the original Ilaan), but I felt that the name fit both of them so well I decided to keep it for both characters.  
> While my Warden Ilaan has learned of her namesake through sacrifices made during her journey, this Ilaan has already paid a heavy price to get to where she is when the story begins. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this Inquisition story, it is such an experience to write. I can’t wait to see where both Ilaans’ paths take them, and I hope you will join me for those adventure as well!

Gwaren, Ferelden  
9:30 Dragon 

The sea lapped at the squat seaside pillars, glimmering with the brilliant afternoon sunlight. The little girl hopped among the tops of the small pillars, rising barely above the ground, laughing when the sea sprayed her ankles. Her hair shone like spun gold in the harsh light, even tangled together in an unruly braid. Pointed ears poked through the strands of free hair.

The little elven girl paused in her game, panting, and looked around at the bustling people, tawny eyes searching for the familiar vallaslined face and ornate staff poking behind thick brown hair. Various fishwives and merchants hurried through the square, bartering wares and foods, babes mewling in their mother’s arms and small clusters of livestock bleating and snorting.

Instead of the man, the girl’s eyes fixed upon a slender figure with raven-black hair secured in a slightly unruly bun and clothing appearing to be stitched from bits of leather and red and black silk. Several large, beautiful black feathers poked from a small shoulder pauldron. The girl gave a sigh of admiration and abandoned the seaside, dodging unwary feet until she was close enough to touch the woman with the feathers.

Yellow eyes searched the crowd in alarm until settling upon the girl, small hand pulling softly at her trousers. A moment of surprise flitted across the narrow face before shifting to an expression of unconcealed distaste.

“I have nothing for you, child. Go pester someone else.”

The girl bit her lip but persisted, unperturbed.

“I don’t want anything from you, miss. I only wanted to say that your feathers are very pretty.”

The woman tutted. “Thank you, now go away.”

The girl continued, unfazed by the stranger’s obvious dislike of her.

“They look a bit like mine when I’m a bird, except yours are much bigger.”

The woman paused, yellow eyes wide. A crease formed between her brows and she crouched down so that she was eye level with the girl.

“What did you say?”

The girl hesitated, knowing those were the words Keeper Ralaferin used when he was displeased with her, but the woman did not look angry, so she went on.

“Your feathers look a bit like mine when I am a bird, but mine are more this color,” she pulled at the braid so that the woman could see its fairness, “and much smaller. But I think yours are bigger because you’re grown.”

The woman stared at the strange elven girl, taking in her presence with renewed interest.

“You can change your form with magic?”

The girl nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Keeper Ralaferin says I am very good at observing, and I can already turn into a bird and a halla. I want to be a wolf next, but the Keeper says I am too young.”

The woman opened her mouth to reply when an elven man with vallaslin on his face and an ornate wooden staff pushed through the crowd and approached the pair, shoulders tense.

“Excuse me my lady; I apologize if my daughter has bothered you.” The man grabbed the little girl’s hand and held it fast as the woman straightened, looking from the girl to the man and finding no common traits that linked them by blood.

“’Tis no trouble. On the contrary, she is quite…amusing.”

The man nodded and laughed. “Indeed? I am glad to hear it. We must be off, I am afraid, but thank you for your graciousness.” He turned to the girl, who was biting her lip. “Come da’len, it is time to go.”

The pair turned to leave when the woman called out to them. Hesitantly, she made her way over to the girl and pulled a single, large feather from its place on her pauldron. She handed it to the girl, who took it gently, as though it would turn to ashes if she held it too hard.

“For you.” The woman smiled, observing as the child carefully added the feather to her braid, making her look even more feral than she had before. The girl grinned.

“Thank you, miss. I will wear it forever!”  
The woman nodded. “I should expect nothing less from such a fine feather.”

She watched as the two elves departed the city, making their way through the throng of people until they disappeared amongst the setting sun.


	2. Fated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilaan is sent to the conclave on behalf of Keeper Deshanna, with dire and unforeseen consequences for everyone involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading thus far, I hope you enjoy!

Free Marches, Ferelden  
9:41 Dragon

She was a bird again. Keeper Deshanna concluded with a sigh as she searched for her elusive apprentice amongst the thickly dressed greenery of the forest, squinting into the branches as she passed, following the sounds of ravens and swallows.

The Keeper walked deeper into the forest, where it was darker and cooler, and further away from the Dalish encampment on the outskirts of the deciduous, dense wood. She sniffed the air, pricked up her pointed ears; a raven cawed from somewhere further northeast. She pushed deeper into the woods, wondering whether she should simply allow her charge to return when she was ready, until she saw them.

They were light, subtle, the deepest part of the tracks coming from the soles of the boot- marks, which gradually became larger and more canine. She smiled. Always walking on the balls of her feet, maneuvering silently and swiftly wherever she went. It was something that both saddened and impressed the elder. The Keeper bent down and examined them, running a steady hand upon the indents in the soft earth beneath her fingers. After seeing where they led, deeper into the towering trees adjacent to a rocky stream, she continued following the tracks, though kept a firm hold upon her ornate oak staff, just in case.  
Not a bird today, but a wolf.

Despite her time spent among the gentle patience and guidance of Clan Lavellan, Ilaan had a wildness to her that the Keeper could not tame or dissuade, no matter how long she has tried. The young elven woman had made much progress in her healing and civility since she was taken in by the Clan, but still, Deshanna worried. There was no way for her to tell how deeply Ilaan’s time in Tevinter had affected her. But she did know one thing; on her bad days, she was a wolf.

She reached the end of the stream, where it meandered from its chief source, a massive, pounding waterfall pouring from a towering cliffside, ringed by colossal sentinel pines and shifting stones. Lichen thrived upon the stones nearest the water and upon a fallen log, and several tall, skinny brown mushrooms peeped from their damp earth beds. She sniffed the sweet, chilly air; along with the distinct freshness of flowing water and growing things, she smelled a faint wisp of gooseberry.

“I know you are there, da’len. Come out of the shadows.” For a moment, there was only the constant pouring of the waterfall and whisper of wind through the trees, before the smallest of footfalls could be heard from the Keeper’s left. She turned to see a massive silver wolf emerge from the impenetrable treeline, intelligent golden eyes staring unblinkingly at the elven woman. The wolf continued to stare for a moment, breeze rustling its thickening coat, before the air surrounding it shimmered and was briefly engulfed by a faintly glowing aura of arcana, and a young elven woman stood in its place.

Keeper Deshanna regarded her charge, the same curious yellow eyes as the wolf’s looking into her own, the small, slender figure, the fine-featured pale face, the slightly bedraggled shoulder-length hair and its strange silvery-white hue shining dully in the evening light. The silky black feather braided into it stood out starkly against the rest of the pale strands. It used to be the same golden color as her eyes, the Keeper recalled the girl telling her, before her capture in Tevinter. Not for the first time, she shuddered at extent of the Imperium’s treatment of her that had caused the color to completely drain from her hair.

“I have been looking for you, da’len. I thought you would be a bird.” The girl shook her silver head, a stray beam of sunlight streaming across her face, illuminating one tawny eye in disconcerting brightness.

“No, not today.” She averted her eyes from the Keeper, pretended to pick dirt from her nails. Or perhaps truly doing so, seeing as she had run as a wolf. Deshanna approached her slowly, replacing her staff behind her slender back. Even after several months in her presence, the Keeper was still at times unsure of how to behave or proceed around her charge.

She knew that beneath her wildness and outward stoniness, the girl desired the gentle touch that she had been deprived of for so long, if she ever knew it at all. But despite this, there was a ferocity and at times unsettling distance in the girl’s eyes and demeanor that discouraged any form of affection or concern. She had wondered more than a few times if the girl had not been made Tranquil; impossible, she confirmed eventually, by her retaining her unique magical abilities and rare but vehement displays of vulnerability and emotion.

Still, there were times when her speech and behavior suggested a being of a much older time, as though despite her age she was from a time much older than these, and could not leave them behind.

The Keeper recalled the last outburst from the small, quiet young woman; she had awoken in a blind terror from a nightmare whose horror the elven elder could only guess at, and the girl’s ferocity had been frightening to behold. She was forced to enact her most potent abilities as a healer and impose a sleeping spell upon her, after physically restraining her from harming herself or anyone else who attempted to help release her from the nightmare she had seemed unable to distinguish from reality.

But Ilaan was quite calm now, standing before her with her head slightly cocked to one side and intelligent tawny eyes watching her with their usual degree of skillful observation. When she did not back away from the Keeper’s advancement, she closed the rest of the distance and placed a hand upon her charge’s shoulder, so small beneath her touch.

“Are you well, Ilaan? It is not like you to miss evening meal.”

The girl looked to where the sun was setting just behind the cliffside above them, watching a flock of ravens fly past before nodding her head.

“Yes, Keeper. I am fine.” A crease formed between the Keeper’s brows at this, the same mark of concern she wore when the hunters do not return for a long time. 

“You were a wolf today. Why?” The girl averted her eyes, staring at the waterfall splashing to their left.

“There were humans around camp today.” The Keeper sighed. She suspected something like this would happen.

“Orlesians, not Tevinter. Simple merchants, and friendly enough.” Ilaan said nothing to this, only continued to stare hard at the falling water. “I understand your caution, da’len. I will not force you, but it does you no good to run from your memories and fears. You must face them, acknowledge their existence, and only then will you be free of them.”

“After what was done to my Clan, what they did to me? I think not. Orlais, Ferelden, Tevinter, it matters not. They are just pretty lines those in power have drawn on paper. Year after year, they build palaces of their fears and hatred and sit in them like kings upon seats of bones. Humans hearts are all blackened by what they do not understand.”

The Keeper sighed. “Wise words, if laced with prejudice. Come da’len, let us return to camp. Fharen’nel has made stew from the hunt.”

The two left the rapidly darkening forest for the Dalish camp, the distant firelight and voices traveling softly on the cool night wind. Ilaan seemed perfectly at ease within the night-ridden woods, her shoulders loose and relaxed, walking with an ease that was rarely observed elsewhere. Even among the reclusive Dalish, her attunement with the natural world was more profound than in the most experienced hunters and forest-residing clans. Likely a feature of her shifting, she observed.

“Ilaan, it is not my place to ask but I must admit curiosity- what do you do in animal form?”

The girl tilted her silver head slightly to one side, sharp tawny eyes scanning the darkness ahead of them. Her ears twitched before turning to the Keeper. “I do many things. I listen mostly, scout what is around us and become acquainted with our surroundings in different forms. I watch the goings-on of the forest or wherever we are settled. If necessary, I protect and defend myself or our clan.”

The Keeper raised a brow. “I was not aware we were under threat.”

“We are Dalish. Our very existence is a threat, to all but ourselves. Should we come under attack, I will defend us in any way I am able.”

They walked in silence for a long while, the Keeper chewing over the information her charge had provided, quite surprisingly, as trying to extract information from her seemed more difficult than migrating across the Frostbacks in winter.

“And your knight-enchanter abilities, do you use them?”

The girl shook her head. “Not for a long time. Not since...well, not for months. There has been no need.”

“And you learned them from your previous Keeper?”

To her surprise, Ilaan again shook her head. Her face was stoic, but she felt the slight shift in the air as emotion stirred up inside her, like milk into tea. What emotion, she could only guess.

“No. After I was captured, they strapped me to their uncovered wagon on the road to the Imperium. I was badly wounded after their raid, and traversed the Fade intermittently as I succumbed to the effects of the injuries. A spirit taught me his arts, in exchange for a favor. Nevertheless, it has served me well.” She gave the Keeper a sidelong glance, then smiled. “I could teach you, if you like.”

The elder woman laughed.

“Thank you, but I am a Keeper and healer, not a warrior. Still, it would be interesting to learn more about your magical abilities, if you would humor an old woman. Your knowledge could be invaluable, perhaps even reignited among our people.”

“I am willing. That would be...very well to witness.” They walked further along, until the glow of their campfires could be seen even from such a vast distance. Canine tracks, hidden by the darkness, lay under their feet.

“Keeper?”

“Hmm?”

“Clan Lavellan has frequent contact with humans. Have you...have you ever met Divine Justinia?”

The Keeper looked to the young woman, face concealed by the darkness. She could glean nothing. “We are not an exceedingly wealthy or important clan, but we have traded with members of the Chantry. We are known to the Divine, though I cannot say I have met with her personally. But why such a question, da’len?”

Ilaan shrugged her small shoulders. “I have heard that this Divine is different from the others. That she accepts those the chantry have shunned in the past. I do not expect this to extend to all elves, but perhaps it is a chance for our people to stop living under the thumb of humans.”

“Let us hope. I have been considering attempting to arrange a meeting with this new Divine, to learn of any possible plans for the Dalish. Our reclusivity is our strength, but it is also our weakness.”

They entered the camp, where several smaller campfires roared around the central, largest one, upon which the remains of a large elk hung from a spit, picked nearly clean of its meat. Faint music of lutes and voices carried upon the wind, and several elven children danced before their fires, laughing and daring each other to get as close to it as they could. A mother holding a bundle of rags shouted at the children, who danced away from her swatting, giggling and scrambling through the camp.

As they walked, the elves of the clan nodded or bowed to Keeper Deshanna, who simply smiled and nodded back. Many smiled at Ilaan, who found herself smiling back. She breathed deeply, watching the smoke of their fires rising to disappear into the stars, inhaling the heady aroma of fires and meat and cold autumn air, the snow-white bleats of the halla soft in the distance.

“Keeper Deshanna.” A scout ran up to the pair of them, his dark hair secured by a ribbon with strands flying loose in the breeze. His face was flushed and his eyes held a deep sense of urgency. The Keeper turned to him, taking all of this in in an instant but waiting patiently for him to regain his composure. Ilaan smelled fear on him, uncertainty. The same scent deer wore when they sensed her wolf presence in the forest.

“The shemlen are planning something.” The scout spoke quickly, eyes darting between the Keeper and Ilaan, as though uncertain of how much he should reveal in her presence. Keeper Deshanna nodded and turned to Ilaan; taking her meaning, the young woman simply nodded and stood behind as the Keeper went further into the darkness with the scout.

Ilaan turned back to the rest of the camp and meandered through it, watching as the others ate or drank or polished their blades and bows. She went to check upon the halla when Fharen’nel stepped up behind her, a steaming bowl of stew in his hands.

“I thought you might want some supper. Elk, as you saw.” Ilaan smiled and accepted the bowl, eating ravenously until all that was left was the dregs.

“Ma serannas, Fharen’nel. The hunt went well, I take it?”

Fharen’nel nodded, patting a snow-white halla upon its back as it grazed on the thick grass at their feet. His fair hair was loose and nearly to his shoulders, almost as long as Ilaan’s own. He had a kind face with mirthful grey eyes, and a smile that always crinkled his nose a bit. His vallaslin was a pale gold color, the sigil of Sylaise tattooed over his left eye. Despite his vigor and thirst for the hunt, he desired the peace and comfort of the hearth and home, thus his heart belonged to the values held by the elven god Sylaise.

“It did, thanks to you. I still don’t know how you manage to get so close to them without them noticing you, though. I managed to get within a few feet before the elk sensed me. Even so, it was far easier than the previous ones.”

Ilaan laughed. “I am glad. And the elk was delicious, even for all its trouble.”

Fharen’nel grinned, nose crinkling slightly. He sat easily upon the grass, leaning up against the fence that held the halla. Ilaan did the same, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her arms over them. Even in the dim light of the campfires, the scars upon her bared skin could be distinguished, raised and white.

“Fharen’nel?”

“Mm?”

Ilaan fiddled with her fingernails as she watched where the Keeper had disappeared with the scout. “What do you think the shemlen are planning? The scout seemed worried.”

Fharen’nel shrugged, plucking grass from the ground and absentmindedly tossing it to the wind.

“Who knows? Shemlen plan many things, does it really matter? As long as we stay in good trade relations and out of their way, I do not think it affects us.” He glanced at her, but she only continued to stare into the darkness. “I know you are not fond of humans, but they will keep to their own. We will endure, no matter how ruinous they let their world become.” 

She shook her head. “But it is not just their world, and their decisions often have more consequences than they seem to realize. Nothing it without consequence, nothing can be disturbed without also disrupting whatever is around it, like ripples in a pond.”

“You are right, Ilaan. But what can we do? We are just one clan, with no history left and little power. At most, we can only care for our own and protect each other, no matter what comes.”

Ilaan closed her eyes. “Yes. I know.”

They stayed there until the campfires burned out, and silence reigned over the camp, aside from the mild snorts of the halla and hushed whispers.

Keeper Deshanna shook her awake. She sat bolt upright, awake and alert in an instant. Her eyes searched the darkness for any sign of danger, but there was only the Keeper.

“Keeper? What is wrong?”

Even in the dim light, she could see the crease of worry between the older woman’s brows. Her clear eyes were clouded with something Ilaan could not decipher.

“Nothing is wrong, da’len. But I have a task for you. It is vital to the clan, and something I believe only you are perfectly suited for. I ask only that you trust me.”

Ilaan stood from her bedroll. “What do you mean? What task? What did the messenger tell you?”

Keeper Deshanna sighed, then beckoned for her to follow. She did, trailing her as they left the tent connected to the aravel, finally coming to stop on the outskirts of the camp, to the east. Two statues of Fen’Harel stood guard.

“There is to be a meeting at the conclave in Ferelden. The Divine will be its leader, though all groups will be there to have a voice. Mages, Templars, even the Qun will be in attendance.”  
Ilaan shook her head. “But why? What is their goal? The elves have no say in this?”

Keeper Deshanna smiled sadly. “Have we ever had a voice in human affairs? The Divine is to attempt to bring together the mages and the templars. We do not yet know the consequences this union will have, if it is successful, nor how it will affect our people.”

“And…what would you have me do, if elves have no place there?”

The Keeper sighed; she had clearly known whatever she was going to say was not going to please Ilaan. “I would like you to spy upon them, and report back to me. We are to convene for Arlathvhen in three weeks time, and we must know the consequences this will have.”

Anger rose in Ilaan, and her chest ached from the betrayal. “You would send me away? Why not send scouts? If I am a burden, simply tell me, and I shall leave you all in peace.” She could not conceal the hurt from her voice, and cursed herself inwardly.

“You misunderstand, da’len. It is the very opposite, which is why I have elected you. You have skills even my best scouts and hunters do not possess, and this will be to our advantage, and for your own safety. Stay in animal form once there, and you will never be suspected.”

“But there will be templars. They can sense magic.”

“They can sense the magic of those from the Circle of Magi. They were trained to do so, and are familiar with their magic. Yours however, knight-enchanter and shapeshifting, they have only heard of in fireside tales, if even that. I would never send you into danger, da’len. Ar lath ma, Ilaan. It pains my heart to set you this task, but it is for the good of all of us. For your own good as well. We are your family, your people, and you are our best hope for protection against whatever may result from this conclave gathering.”

When Ilaan did not respond, she placed a hand beneath her chin, gently. “Da’len, do you trust me?”

After a moment, she nodded. “Then this must be done. You are a capable and resourceful mage, and my First; I would not send you into the mouth of a dragon. If you do not return by the full moon, I will send my best to come and retrieve you. I will come myself, if need be. All will be well, Ilaan.” 

Ilaan looked to the sky, where a bright white moon shone, three-quarters full. Five more days, perhaps a week at most, she estimated.

The young woman took a deep breath. “Very well. I will do as you ask, Keeper.”

“Ma serannas, da’len. I have packed you provisions, should you require them.” The Keeper handed her a satchel, which she slung across one shoulder. She took one step forward, away from the camp, before turning back and throwing her arms around the Keeper.

“I will miss you, Keeper. Stay safe. All of you.” 

She turned away and was gone in a flap of wings, disappearing into the inky blackness of the night. The Keeper wiped her eyes before turning away from the eastern sky and back into the camp.  
* * *  
She had gone to the conclave on behalf of Keeper Deshanna. She foresaw arguing, fighting, even bloodshed between the templars and mages. She spotted Divine Justinia in her regal robe and tall hat of white and red, lined but determined face and steady voice a beacon of solidarity amongst the chaos. There were Chantry members as well, and some small forces of Qunari warriors. Everyone was at the conclave, but the elves. Never the elves.

She had not expected the explosion that opened the sky. She had not expected the instant incineration of the blast as the Veil was torn open, the instant loss of thousands of lives. All lives but hers.

But she did not remember that now, any of that. There was only the darkness, and the strange green light flashing behind her closed eyelids. What was that light? Sunlight was not green, even the forest leaves of the Free Marches were not so bold. Then she felt the pain, lancing through her left arm like lightning. The green light flashed again. She opened her eyes. 

She gasped as another spasm of electric pain tingled through her arm, the strange green mark upon her hand lighting up like a torch as it flared to life briefly before becoming dormant again, an innocent glowing upon her palm. She tried to hold it up to the torchlight of the dim dungeon, but was stopped short by the characteristic clink of a chain. Her heart dropped into her stomach; she felt for a moment as though she would be sick. 

No, not again. It can’t be.

She wracked her brain to try and remember what happened, how she had gotten the mark, but the memories were foggy and indistinct, slipping from her mind like stones in a riverbed. She was sent to the conclave by Keeper Deshanna, to observe the meeting and attempted unification of the mages and templars. She remembered Divine Justinia; she remembered watching them all as she crouched from her place within the tree in her avian form, all of them gathered like little ants beneath her.

Something happened after, something painful, she was racing against something, though the images would not come to light in her mind. Panic began to settle into her nerves, but she forced herself to take several deep breaths of the stale underground air. “Be as though you are Tranquil. It does not matter where you are, what they do to you. You have no emotions, no fear. Fear is for prey.”

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Within a moment, a glowing blade of pure arcana appeared in her hand; she guided it into the keyhole of her chains, testing where the mechanisms clinked and shifted, watching the door for any signs of entry from her captors. 

There was a successful clink, and the chain of her left arm fell bodily to the floor. Biting her lip, she worked at the other until it, too, fell.

As soon as she stood, however, the doors were thrown open and the dungeon was flooded with evening light. She blinked and stepped back, shielding her eyes. There was a shout, and several guards flooded the chamber, aiming bows at her. Their breastplates were emblazoned with the symbol of what looked like an eye surrounded by a large sun. “Not Tevinter, but who? The sun looks like the Chantry symbol, but these are no priests.”

“How did you escape your chains? It was not enough to kill everyone at the conclave, but now you cannot face your guilt with honor!” Two women entered the dungeon, the one on the left handsome and powerfully built, in a warrior’s armor and a sword and shield upon her back. Two scars upon her cheeks decorated otherwise smooth olive skin, dark hair cropped short with a single braid wrapped around her head and sharp grey eyes glaring accusingly at the elf.

The other woman beside her was slightly smaller, in light chainmail and a hood. Her face was partially concealed, though clear blue eyes and rose-petal lips adorned a fine-featured face. Her eyes did not burn with fire like the other’s, though her mouth was turned down at the edges. Both bore the same sigil of a sword through a sun-ringed eye.

Ilaan’s stomach plummeted. “Everyone…is dead? And you think I am responsible?”

The warrior woman lunged forward and grabbed hold of Ilaan’s left hand, the one with the glowing green mark. She tried to pull away, but the grip was like iron. “Explain this.”

“I can’t!” Her voice was growing higher and more desperate, and a hard lump lodged itself in her throat. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Why would they not listen?

“What do you mean you ‘can’t?’” The fury flashed again in the woman’s eyes, and she began dragging the elf towards the chains. Her reaction was instant; a thought, a whisper, a push, and she flapped above them in the dungeon. 

“She can change her form! Stop her!” Arrows assailed her, but she dodged them swiftly and made for the open door, taking advantage of their stunned state. She was almost out the door before the pain gripped her.

One moment she was nearly free, the next she fell hard upon the ground in her original form once more, left hand burning in a pain that rivaled even that of her torture in Tevinter. She bit her tongue so hard she spat blood, and her face went pale.

The archers aimed their bows at her while the warrior woman heaved her to her knees and began dragging her back toward the chains. The pain lanced through her arm, and it felt as though it were splintering like a lance that had been demolished in a tourney. She saw the chains upon the ground, the woman dragging her towards them, but her mind flashed full of the chains she wore in the Imperium, to the Magisters and mages and others who came to torment her, to drain her of her life and endurance.

She did not recognize her screams as they filled the dungeon and beyond. Her voice sounded high and desperate, and despite her logical mind knowing this would accomplish nothing, she could not stop herself. She could not be a prisoner, not again. She would die before she was in chains.

“Cassandra, stop.” The hooded woman stepped up behind the warrior, Cassandra, who looked behind her in disgust.

“Stop? She murdered the Divine, she created the breach. What do you mean stop? She could change her form again at any moment, and we would not be able to catch her.”

The other woman simply shook her head and replaced Cassandra’s stance before the young elven woman, who recoiled from the woman. Upon closer inspection, she saw strands of chin-length red hair framing the surprisingly mild face. Her eyes held none of the anger of the other’s, only interest and perhaps something like pity.

“You have been in chains before, haven’t you?”

Ilaan did not respond, nor did she make eye contact; the memories were still so fresh in her mind, she felt that this woman would spot them in an instant if she looked. When she did not receive a response, she knelt down so that she was eye level with the girl.

With a slow hand, she reached out, stopping just short of the girl, and waited, not breaking eye contact with her despite her looking away. When she did not react, the woman closed the distance until she caught her arm. Her touch was gentle and careful, unlike Cassandra’s. She slowly pulled back the sleeve of her tunic to reveal the skin of her right arm, bearing countless scars and blemishes.

“Who did this to you?” Her voice, although neutral, was oddly quiet, and she ran soft fingers over the raised white marks, eyes narrowed. The girl turned to Cassandra, who even seemed to forget her anger for a moment and stared instead with a mixture of revolt and intrigue at the girl. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Tevinter.” Was all she said, voice scarcely more than a whisper, so that the red-haired woman had to lean forward to hear. After a moment more of inspection, she stood. Cassandra stared hard at Ilaan before guiding the hooded woman to the open doorway.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift.” With a final glance at Ilaan, the red-haired woman, Leliana, nodded to her companion and left for the camp. 

Cassandra turned back to the prisoner, the blind fury gone from her face now and replaced with something Ilaan could not detect. Despite the hardness of her demeanor, her eyes were softer now. She crouched down beside the young woman, who pulled away from her slightly. Cassandra sighed.

“Please forgive me for my…outburst. I will not harm you. I am a Seeker of Truth, not a Magister.” She held out her hand and after a moment, Ilaan took it hesitantly. Her knees groaned as she stood and despite her reluctance, she was grateful for the sturdy grip of the Seeker.

She followed her outside into the frigid autumn air, where a small town teemed. Blacksmiths hammered, clusters of soldiers wandered past, women comforted crying babes and chantry women attended the wounded. And all of them were glaring at Ilaan as she stepped outside.

“We call it the Breach. It is not the only of its kind, just the largest.”

Ilaan shielded her eyes as she turned to the massive green tear swirling in the sky, as bright as any sunlight. It was huge, sinister, ugly. She felt the chaos and destruction within, the serene divide between the Fade and the material world ripped asunder. The spirits were confused, just as confused as the people.

There was a crack like lightning, and the Breach rippled across the grey sky, spreading. The mark upon her hand exploded with pain then, with a fiery jolt so violent it brought her to her knees, unable to stifle the yell in her throat. 

When it had passed, she kneeled with her good arm supporting her upon the snowy ground, panting. Her left arm felt as though it had been struck by lightning. Despite the cold November day, she felt clammy.

Cassandra crouched in front of her, scarred face not unkind. “Each time the Breach expands, so does your mark, and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there is not much time.”

Ilaan stared up at the Breach, imposing and unnatural. “You think this Mark can stop the breach from growing?”

The Seeker nodded, hooking a sturdy arm beneath the elf’s and hoisting her up. “It is our only chance, but we cannot know this for certain. It must be tested on something smaller than the Breach first.”

“And if it is not successful?”

A shadow passed across Cassandra’s face; clearly, she had been wondering the same thing. “The we will all be swallowed by the Breach.”

Ilaan thought of Clan Lavellan, in their peaceful camps amongst the Brecilian forest. She thought of Keeper Deshanna, her kind, motherly disposition and the unwavering acceptance of the clan. She thought of Fharen’nel and his mirthful, young face. She thought of the suspicious people here in Haven, overrun by demons and the Fade. She sighed.

“Very well. If this is the only chance, then I will do my best.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows for a moment, clearly not expecting such compliance from the young woman.

“Good. Come, we must hurry.”

The two meandered through the small village, Cassandra steering her with one chainmail-gloved hand upon her shoulder, though the elf had the suspicion her proximity was more for her protection against the townsfolk than as punishment. Ilaan tried to ignore the glares and whispers of “knife-ear” and “murderer” as they passed, chin held high despite her insides squirming. Something must have shown on her face, because Cassandra spoke up.

“They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn the loss of the Most Holy, Divine Justinia.”

“And you? Do you still think I did this, to all of those people, to myself?”

Cassandra hesitated. “Not intentionally. Something…clearly went wrong.”

Ilaan shook her head and they made their way out of the town and onto a long, winding mountain road, littered with broken wagons and armed soldiers.  
Cassandra let go of her shoulder then and walked beside her along the mountain path, one hand always upon the pommel of her sword.  
Her mark tingled and burned the more they walked, closer to the Breach. After a time they approached a bridge, guarded by two soldiers. 

They nodded to Seeker Cassandra as they approached, and merely stared at Ilaan before opening the heavy gates. Cassandra walked ahead of her and held an arm out in front of the elf to halt her as soon as they stepped onto the stone of the bridge. 

She pulled a small knife from her belt; Ilaan backed away as the Seeker turned to her.  
She pulled the elf’s rope-bound hands to her and Ilaan closed her eyes as the knife swept briskly downward; when no pain came, she opened them again to see the rope lying cut at their feet. The Seeker offered her the smallest of smiles as she sheathed the knife once again and beckoned for them to continue. Ilaan rubbed her raw wrists and followed suit, still uncertain what to make of the shemlen.

They were halfway across the bridge when a rumbling like an earthquake shook the stones. Both women paused, peering around them for the source, when the bridge was suddenly struck with green light that shot from the Breach, and the solid foundations crumbled beneath them.

They landed hard upon the ground below, shielding their heads with their hands from the heavy debris. Cassandra stood, shaking herself and arming herself with her shield and blade. Ilaan leapt to her feet, looking around for any source of danger.

The ground in front of Cassandra shimmered and glowed, and a massive demon rose from its place, looming and grotesque. 

“Get behind me!” The Seeker shouted before gritting her teeth and charging the demon, shield up and sword ready. 

Ilaan prepared to conjure her own arcane weapons, slowing her breathing and feeling it form in her hands, when the icy ground in front of her began to likewise shimmer and glow. Her stomach dropped, and she stepped as far away from the spot as she could before another demon appeared, hissing menacingly.

Ilaan felt the energy like thunder course through her veins, and in a moment a longbow and arrows of pure magic glowed in her hands. She shot the demon once, twice, three times, as quickly as she could conjure them before demon blood covered the ground and the monster screeched before dying. 

She turned to the demon Cassandra was fighting then and shot her arcana arrows at it. After a moment, it too, died.

Cassandra whipped around and pointed her sword at Ilaan, eyes wide and apprehensive once again. 

“Stop the spell, now!” Ilaan’s anger flashed; she had helped the Seeker, why was she so angry? Nevertheless, she did as bid and the magical weapons dissipated from her hands.

“I was not going to harm you, I was only helping with the demons. I cannot rely solely on you for protection.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes before sighing and sheathing her blade. “You are right, I cannot protect you. Why did you not tell me you are a knight-enchanter? It would have been useful information. I did not think any still remained.”

“Would it have changed anything, aside to make you suspect me even more?”

Cassandra smiled the smallest bit. “I suppose not. Besides, I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

They continued on the path then, in more amicable silence than before, though Ilaan was still uncertain of how to act around the Seeker. She seemed honorable enough, but what was to stop her from putting her back in chains, if she decided she no longer trusted her? How was she going to convince them she was not responsible for the explosion at the conclave, and how was she going to return to her clan?

The sounds of battle ahead distracted the elf from her musings, and Cassandra readied her sword and shield, nodding to the elf that she should do the same. 

A bow of pure arcana appeared in her hands and she followed the Seeker as she ran into the fray of demons and soldiers and a few others she did not recognize. She fired her arrows at the demons, trying to make sense of the chaos that the battle was, careful not to strike any allies. 

Eventually, the last demon was slain, and only a smaller green tear in the Veil, a miniature of the Breach, remained.

She flinched in surprise as her left arm was quickly, though not roughly, seized by another elf and raised up to the rift. There was a strange tingling feeling in her hand before a vein of green light connected her mark to the rift. She felt it shifting, moving, receding; her arm twitched and felt as though she had emitted a ball of flame from her palm, and the rift broke apart at the seams, ceasing to exist. 

The elven man released her and she stared at her mark, then to the elf before her, bald but with a handsome and kind face.

“What did you do?”

He smiled, grey-green eyes twinkling. “I did nothing, the credit is yours. It seems your mark has the power to close the Breach after all.”

“So I can do it.” She rubbed her palm before being torn from her thoughts by another, raspier yet not unpleasant voice behind her.

“And here I thought we would be ass-deep in demons forever.” She turned to see a dwarf with a handsome yet suspect face and auburn hair secured in a half-ponytail. He held a remarkably complex-looking crossbow in his arms.

Cassandra made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. The dwarf chuckled.

“Groan all you want Seeker, you need me.”

“You are mistaken, Varric. I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is…no longer necessary. But we have the situation under control, you can go squirm beneath whatever rock you were in before the conclave.”

Varric hitched up his crossbow and laughed, almost bitterly. “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.” 

He mustered what could easily have been a smolder, and for a moment Ilaan thought Cassandra would slap the dwarf. “Admit it, you need my help.”

Cassandra simply made the same disgusted noise and threw her arms up in the air.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you are still with us.” Ilaan tilted her head, brow furrowed. The dwarf, Varric, evidently astute enough to recognize her confusion, spoke.

“He means he kept that mark from killing you while you were unconscious.”

Ilaan looked down at her hand, glowing green. “I had not realized. Thank you, Solas.”

The elf simply nodded graciously before turning to Cassandra, who was peering out at the horizon, a hand still on the hilt of her sword. “Cassandra, your prisoner may be a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having this kind of power. Whatever began the Breach, it could not have been her.”

The Seeker looked hard at Ilaan before audibly sighing. “Understood. Come, we should get to the forward camp as soon as possible.”

The Seeker led the way as Solas followed. Varric patted his crossbow and flashed a slippery grin at Ilaan. 

“Well, Bianca’s excited.”

They maneuvered through the mountain pass, picking their way across jutting stones and broken wagons and debris, Varric violating the somewhat tense silence with stories or ill-timed jabs at Cassandra, to which she would obstinately ignore. Finally, they reached the already open gates leading to the camp, which was apparently stationed upon a bridge.

This bridge was much busier than the last one, Ilaan observed with a note of disquiet. Soldiers and commanders moved to and fro, arming themselves, sharpening weapons, and stocking goods while a Chancellor and Leliana stood at a long table, examining a map. Leliana looked up at them as they approached. 

“You made it, thank the Maker.” Despite her relief, the Chancellor, a stern man with an angry brow and a twisted mouth, pointed an aged finger at Ilaan.

“Just in time. Put her in chains, she must be taken into custody for execution.”

Ilaan stepped back, preparing to transform, though to her surprise Cassandra held up a chain mailed hand, stopping the soldiers that had moved to obey the Chancellor’s orders. 

“You will not order my soldiers, Chancellor Roderick. She is no longer a prisoner, nor is her life forfeit.”

The Chancellor’s hooded eyes widened and he sputtered a moment before finding his voice. “Not a prisoner? She murdered the Divine! This is blasphemy, and I will not stand for it. You are nothing but a glorified thug, you have no right.”

Leliana stepped between the two, hands clasped behind her back and clear blue eyes darting between them before turning to the Chancellor, deeming him the most immediate threat.

“We still serve the Divine, Chancellor Rodrick, and she stood for fairness and patience for all. If Seeker Cassandra, who is her right hand and a Seeker of Truth, deems the elf no longer guilty, then so does the Divine.”

“Regardless of your distaste of me, isn’t the Breach the most immediate concern?”

Ilaan’s quiet voice spoke up, surprising them all. Leliana’s rose-petal mouth smiled the tiniest bit, and Cassandra looked at her with newfound approval before nodding.

Chancellor Rodrick sighed. “Call a retreat then, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We cannot do that, Chancellor. Our only chance is to seal the Breach, and she may have the key to doing that.”

As if following some cue, Ilaan’s hand began to pulse and glow with its unnatural green light, mirroring the violent emerald of the torn sky. Chancellor Rodrick’s brow furrowed, and he took a step back from the elf, as though her hand would cause another explosion.

“What do you mean, she holds the key?”

“The mark on her hand allows her to close rifts, and with luck, it may be able to close the Breach itself. But we must reach it soon.”

The Chancellor glared at Ilaan’s mark as though it had done him a personal slight. “Only she can close rifts? Highly convenient, don’t you think Seeker?”

Cassandra ignored the Chancellor and turned to Leliana.

“I propose we charge ahead with the remaining soldiers. We should have enough strength to combat the demons as well.”

Leliana shook her head, hood blowing in the cold but gentle wind. Her voice lilted pleasantly, but Ilaan could hear the worry behind it.

“I beg to differ Cassandra. We should send the main force of troops ahead as a distraction and take the mountain path. Much less carnage, and faster, though not necessarily safer.”

“We lost contact with our people in the mountains. We lose a few but have strength in numbers if we charge.”

Both women stared at each other as though they would suddenly come to an agreement by the power of their gazes. Cassandra sighed after a moment and turned around, facing Ilaan, who was gripping her left hand by the wrist as though to staunch the spread of deadly green light.

“You are the one we must keep alive. What do you think we should do?”

Ilaan gazed between the two women, biting her lip. “You’re asking my opinion? Why?”

It was Solas who answered this time, his mellow voice sounding from her left.

“You bear the mark, and as the Seeker said, you are the one we must keep alive. Therefore, your fate is in your own hands. Along with the rest of us, of course.” He offered a feeble half-smile at his own jest, but Ilaan only shook her head and looked to the towering white mountains above them.

All of their fates were in her hands now, not just her own. If they charged, they would undoubtedly lose the lives of their soldiers, yet there was safety in numbers. But how many would they lose just to reach the Breach, let alone actually closing it? The mountain path was a risk, but a diversion did offer them quicker passage, with perhaps less casualties. 

She clenched her fist, nails biting into the flesh of her palm. Her shoulders felt heavier.

“The mountain path. The sooner we reach the Breach, the sooner was can make Thedas safer for everyone.”

She saw the shadow of disapproval pass over Cassandra’s eyes, but she nodded nonetheless. 

“Very well, then. Leliana, will you meet us there with your agents?”

The red-haired woman nodded and turned immediately back out of the gates, disappearing just as quickly as she seemed to appear. The Seeker turned to the seemingly baffled Chancellor before nodding curtly to him and walking past him, to the far end of the bridge where the gates stood ajar, flanked by two armed soldiers, the final defense before the hellscape of the Breach and its burned valley.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” 

The Chancellor’s voice followed them as the party made their way past his station and down the bridge. Though she strode with confidence from what the rest could see, Ilaan sensed that she was not so certain as she seemed. 

Nevertheless, she accepted her responsibility and her fate with the same obstinate bravery in which she battled. The gates closed shut, heavy and final, behind them.


End file.
